


Dean Doesn't Wear Sweaters

by inthebackoftheimpala (Wishme)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Gen, M/M, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/inthebackoftheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seasons change and the boys need new clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Doesn't Wear Sweaters

 

 

August slips out as sticky as it arrived, blowing in one last humid summer storm, rattling the windows of the Bunker. Cas watches the whole thing from the roof, patterns of lightning ripping through the sky, rolling thunder shuddering over the hills. He drips down the hallway after, leaving a trail of sluggish wet to the bathroom. Dean finds him under a too-hot shower, shivering and pushes him into bed.

 

The next morning they head to Goodwill. None of them have much in the way of cold weather clothes and they stock up on long-sleeved shirts and flannels for layering. Dean snags a few sets of gray thermals, just in case. The sweater selection is sad, consisting of items far too big for any of them, or rejected Christmas sweaters even a grandmother would be ashamed to wear, or itchy balls of fabric that makes Dean’s skin crawl. Bowing to need, he lets Sam direct them to the nearest mall.

 

Even on a Wednesday the mall is too much for Dean to handle, he snipes while Sam herds them into the department store. Thankfully the men’s department is pretty empty and the sale rack is rather generous. Sam grabs a few soft v-neck sweaters in green and black and retreats to the cashier, leaving Dean and Cas to sift through the rest. Turns out that Cas is picky. The colors aren’t vibrant enough, or the fit too baggy or too tight, or _it’s just not soft enough,_ _Dean_. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Dean shoves a few into Cas’s arms and bullies him into the changing room. They reject a red sweater, a black, a striped rainbow one _(_ Christ _, Cas where did you find this_?) but he’s allowed to keep a heather gray cardigan, the stupid blue one with snowflakes Cas refuses to let go, and a dark blue v-neck sweater that causes Dean’s breath to hitch. Cas presses a deep green sweater into Dean’s hand saying, “I think you should have this one.”

 

“Dude, no,” he says. He gestures to his face, “This? Is not sweater material. I’m more of a leather jacket, layered flannel guy--you’ve seen what I wear.” Cas stares at him, impassive. Their eyes hold for a few beats and Dean drops his gaze first. Grumbling he takes the damn sweater and a maroon one in a similar style, pretending not to notice the small smile hovering around Cas’s mouth. On the way home they pass a farmer’s market, stopping so Sam can stock up on greens and squash. Cas wanders over to a stand selling yarn, shoving his hands deep into the folds of one of the blankets on display. They walk away with a mountain of yarn in earthy greens and gold and the number for a woman who runs workshops.

 

The yarn immediately disappears and Dean mostly forgets about it.  He nearly swallows his tongue the first time Cas walks into the library wearing boxers and his new blue sweater, staring balefully at a cup of stale coffee. He exits hastily, to make a new pot of coffee, bracing himself on the edge of the counter to slow his heart beat. _Son of a bitch_.

 

He misses the way Cas’s eyes drop to his collar bones each time he wears his new green sweater, the quick aborted movements of Cas’s hands towards the pale band of skin between the hem and his belt. He continues to make pots of coffee and finds the image of sharp blue eyes behind his lids each night before he falls asleep.

 

Mid-October brings their first Lady in White in a long time. It’s not pretty, but it gets done, her ichor-dripping form banished. They’re quiet on the ride home and Cas disappears into his room, leaving Sam and Dean to fight over the TV before heading to bed. Dean hesitates by Cas’s door, raises his hand as if to knock before running it down his face and retreating to his own room.

 

Dean’s in the library running through Bobby’s notes to check against a new text that the bowels of the Bunker spit out when Cas pads in. Dean doesn’t have to turn to know who it is by the way the hairs rise on his neck. He looks up and there he is, all blue eyes and sideways hair, pressing an absurdly soft bundle into Dean’s hands. He unwinds the fabric to find a long scarf, green shot through with gold—the yarn they picked up back at that market—impossibly inviting, and Dean doesn’t resist the urge to bury his face in it.  It smells like Cas and his pants grow tight, causing him to fidget slightly. Cas snorts and Dean looks up at his friend, winding the scarf around his neck. “Thanks, Cas”

 

The angel turns to go and Dean catches his hand. They both look at their joined hands and Dean pushes back from the table, coming to his feet. He’s looking at Cas who is still looking at their hands and then he’s gathering Cas up against him, scarf trapped in between, pressing their lips together. A fraction of a minute later they’re looking at each other again and Cas swings him around to press him against the bookshelf, mouth open under his and it’s like coming home.

 

 

 

 


End file.
